


Don't Cry

by Arrestzelle



Series: Rammstein Requests [3]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sonne, Drabble Collection, Dubcon Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 12:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21161810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: These six dwarves work tirelessly to appeaseher. Paul is losing his strength, his spirit. Till can tell.





	Don't Cry

**Author's Note:**

> This is a drabble request for jasonic-newdank on Tumblr! Hope you like it, I had a lot of fun writing this one.

It feels like the caves are closing in on them. The dust and dirt is thick in the air, building in their throats and sinuses until it's as if they’re just breathing through particles. The darkness, the lack of the sun—it can be too much. Himself and Schneider have always been the toughest of the group. Shouldering the weight of it all; both literally and metaphorically. Till’s shoulders are bruised, his arms fatigued. Schneider has that perpetually stern expression on his face, shadowed by the caked on dirt and dust.

Paul and Richard can only swing a pick-axe for so long before Richard collapses, whining about his wrists, while Paul will keep going and going until he can’t do it anymore. To the point of it becoming a concern; Schneider often has to snatch the pick-axe out of his hand and tell him to sit down and have some water. Paul will, as always, argue that he has to keep going for _her._ Schneider never puts up with it. Every time they have this argument, Schneider would yell at him that _she’s_ not here, is she? How could _she_ possibly know that he’s resting for ten minutes? And Paul would start shaking. He would grab his mining helmet, chuck it elsewhere angrily, and begin running his filthy hands through his short hair, mumbling to himself that_ she always knows_.

Standing to the side, idly brushing away built up, obliterated rock from the wall he’s mining into, Till watches this, for the hundredth time. And now, Flake stands there with a weak grip on his shovel, watching Paul forlornly, while Ollie has gone back to swinging the pick-axe. Richard shuffles over to Paul to sit next to him, bringing an arm around him—but Paul violently shoves it off and returns his head to his hands. Richard doesn’t leave. He just sits next to Paul, trying to ease a jug of water into his hands, but his efforts are always in vain. Paul doesn’t even look at him.

Till knows that, at this rate, Paul could possibly collapse from dehydration and overexertion. And he’s not quite sure if Paul intends for that or not. Watching him, Till frowns. Schneider stopped caring as soon as Paul refused to listen; he’s already back to hammering a stubborn piece of rock. Till turns to the wall he’s drilling through, adjusting his grip on the massive tool. Then, the ear-splitting cacophony begins once more.

* * *

It’s night again. _She_ is in her chambers, undoubtedly out of it like she always is at this time of the evening. A threatening snarl for them to leave her be, and then the door slams shut so hard, it rattles the entire little cabin. A good sign you wouldn’t want to cross her. Which suits Till just fine. As much as he adores her and enjoys being with her when she’s merciful, he’s exhausted, and isn’t in the mood to play guessing games—whether he’s going to be beaten if he dared to touch her hand or brush her hair.

Instead, they gather in the bathing room. Six basins are positioned throughout. A wooden shelf of thick towels is positioned in the corner where they dump their filthy clothing into another crate. They’re to be scrubbed clean after their baths. Standing at the entrance of the room, Till begins slipping off his vest as he surveys the others. Ollie and Flake are already in their baths, scrubbing away. Schneider is sitting at the fire stove where he’s waiting for his water to warm up, his hands ruffling through his short hair—a mist of dirt and dust falls to gather on the floor around his bare feet. Paul has his head ducked into a basin of cool water, hands gripping the edges. Till stares, watching him raise his head with a gasp, his hair and face dripping with water. The dirt runs off his boyish face to sully the water below. His loose shirt is gradually soaking up the water as it runs down his neck. Paul wipes at his face, body bowed over the basin.

Till turns away. He deposits his vest and undershirt into the crate of dirty clothing, followed by his pants, his underwear, while his working boots and safety gear are tossed aside. Totally bare of the weight, feeling the heat of the awakened fire stove on his skin, Till trudges heavily over to his basin—it’s already full of cool water. Considering Richard has made it well-known he _loathes _scrubbing his clothing, they made a deal that he were to fill everyone’s basins with water, and in return they would clean his clothing for him. It’s not like filling the basins is an easy task. He has to carry buckets in from the well. It seems he _really_ _hates_ doing laundry.

“Oh, God, yes,” Richard groans aloud, sinking into his heated bathwater for the first time that night. Till glances up to see him melting into the tub, his legs curled up, arms laying along the lip of the basin. Steam rises from the water. A hot bath does sound nice, but Till doesn’t have the patience for it. He’s used to cold water; he grew up around bodies of water and often went swimming.

So, without hesitance, he steps into his basin of water, the coolness of it jolting his skin, and then sits down within it. The bite of cold ripples throughout his body, but he becomes accustomed to it rather quickly. Grabbing his sponge and bar of soap, he gets to work on his dirt-caked body.

They all emerge pink-skinned and freshly cleaned. Now, they are to wash their clothing, but they all come to an agreement that they need to relax for a bit and _then_ get up and scrub away. But knowing the group, Till wagers they won’t get up again, and just have to don filthy, sweat-dried clothing tomorrow for another day of mining.

The group of exhausted dwarves are on their way back to the dining room. Flake and Ollie are chatting quietly amongst themselves while they walk side by side. Schneider is being pestered by Richard but remains stubbornly silent, while Paul walks alone, face unreadable. The group have put on their patchy sleeping pants and matching top with faded color and holes, purchased from the market seemingly years ago. It’s the only other pair of clothing that they have which isn’t their working clothes.

Firstly, they filter into the dining area. As predicted, a closed pot of steak and potato soup sits on the stove—it just needs to be heated up. A loaf of freshly baked bread is wrapped up, resting upon the cutting board in anticipation of being divided. A bowl of massively sized fruit is already placed upon the elongated table. Grapes, apples, bananas. Till’s stomach aches. He _hears_ the hunger of the others.

The scraping of wooden benches being pulled out from under the table fills the room, joined by Richard’s loud proclamation that he is _starving._ Schneider snarks back at him while Flake yawns loudly. Ollie immediately reaches across the table to grab a grape vine. Till sits opposite of Paul. Paul is usually yammering away at this point, but he does no such thing. Instead, he flops down on the bench beside Richard and tiredly rubs at his face. He drops his hands limply against the table and pans his gaze up to meet Till’s scrutinizing eyes. Till offers him a faint perk of a smile. Paul stares at him. Then he gives him a bright smile, eyes widening energetically.

Leaning on an elbow, Paul turns to the other four and loudly asks, “So who’s going to get up to grab the soup when it’s done?! Not me! I’m glued to this seat now!”

Till frowns. Was his awareness of Paul’s odd behavior too apparent? Watching the smaller dwarf laugh and joke around with Richard, Till can easily recognize the falsity of it all. Like he’s merely putting on an act.

In their sleeping quarters, soon after they had all washed their faces and brushed their teeth, Flake climbs up onto his top bunk above Till’s bed, immediately seeking sleep considering he’s been yawning nonstop for the last hour. Schneider departs from Richard’s company with a mumbled goodnight. He grabs his book—_the_ treasured book he reads over and over again until the pages become worn—and collapses into his creaky bottom bunk. Richard reaches over to pat him on the chest, earning a flick of piercing blue eyes. Richard wishes him a goodnight and gives him a tired smile. Like he hoped for, Schneider releases an exhale and returns the faint smile, exhausted and lackluster in nature. Richard then hoists himself up onto his top bunk. Considering he doesn’t have any laundry duties, he tends to go right to bed.

Till takes a seat on his bottom bunk, watching Paul. He’s standing at the door which leads outside. He’s gazing out beyond the small window, clutching his pillow in his arms. His short hair is messy, disheveled like he never brushed it after his bath. It’s quite cute, actually. Till silently appreciates his profile as well, with a faint smile growing on his face. Eventually, Paul releases a deep exhale, which Till can see in the deflation of his torso, and then turns back to the bunk beds.

He meets Till’s gaze. He gives him a weak smile. Till watches him. Paul looks exhausted, unbelievably so. Paul paces over to his shared bunk with Ollie and crawls onto the bottom bunk, to get nestled under the covers.

Like Till anticipated, no one possesses the energy nor the motivation to wash their clothing. To be fair, neither does he. The bed is calling to him.

He can’t sleep. Thoughts of Paul swirl around in his head. Worry plagues his mind. Not only for the other dwarf, but because she hasn’t come out from her chambers yet, ever since they came back from the tunnels and slammed her door in their faces. Till misses her.

He stares at the top bunk over him, where Flake sleeps curled up. He drums his fingers over his stomach. He ponders what to do. It must be apparent to the others that Paul’s spirit is weakening. Paul may be strong-willed and stubborn, but every man can be worn down. What can be done about it? What does he need to mend what’s breaking? Surely there must be an answer. Till just needs to find it.

Till lays there for another half hour. Considering how long he’s been laying here, he feels like it’s just beyond midnight.

Suddenly, he hears sniffling. A shaky inhale, a hitching exhale. The soft, muffled sound of someone attempting to mask the sound of sobs. Till quietly rises up onto an elbow, peering through the darkness as best he can towards Paul’s and Ollie’s bunk. His heart sinks, his stomach coiling. Based on the pitch of the wobbly sobs, as quiet as they are, and the shaky breathing, it’s undeniably Paul. Till strains his hearing, listening. Richard’s mumbling and Schneider’s soft snoring overlaps it a bit, but he can hear it.

Hearing one more whimper is all it takes to convince him. He quietly draws back his blankets and gets out of bed with a creak of old wood. The sniffling stops. Till paces over to Paul’s bottom bunk, sees his body curled up tightly in the quilt, facing the wall. Paul doesn’t move, and he’s utterly silent now. He’s pretending he’s asleep. Till won’t brush it off this time. Too many nights of this have gone by with passivity.

Paul is nestled up close enough to the wall for Till to easily climb onto the bed behind him. Paul gives up the act; he sluggishly turns to look back at him. Eyes adjusted, Till can see his running nose and shimmering eyes with the aid of the moonlight. Paul looks embarrassed, but his embarrassment came in the form of anger. He does not look pleased that Till joined him.

Ignoring his glare, Till shifts closer, close enough he can draw his muscular arm around Paul’s bundled form.

“Till, what are you doing?” Paul demands in a harsh whisper. The way his voice is thick with tears is a dead giveaway. Paul must realize this, because his irritated expression fades to dejection. Till shushes him and moves to comfortably spoon him.

“Don’t cry,” Till murmurs to him, leaning in close enough to say this in a whisper into his ear, so the others don’t hear beyond Richard’s and Schneider’s noise, “We’re in this together. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Stop,” Paul growls, voice wobbling, “Stop acting like you can change anything.”

“Talk to me,” Till insists, resting his forehead against the back of Paul’s head, his longer, dark bangs tickling against Paul’s neck, “Tell me what is troubling you.”

Silence hangs over them. Paul is tense, wound up tightly in his embrace. Till feels it when Paul begins to tremble. Paul ducks his head, moving out of Till’s physical contact. Till hears that sniffling again. Paul shudders uncontrollably in his hold. When Paul jerks a hand up to roughly wipe at his face, Till lets out a deep, wounded exhale—he hates to see him cry. Paul shakes his head.

“I’m so tired, Till,” he whispers, hand moving to grab Till by the wrist, squeezing. Till can feel wetness on his fingers. Paul curls up further, as if he’s attempting to simply disappear. He speaks weakly, as if he could barely find his voice at all.

“I feel so… Empty. I… I miss her so much. Why is she so cruel to us? I just want… I want her. I want her love. But how do we earn that? Through blood and sweat? The gold she demands only hurts her, Till. Why should we be forced to deliver her something that hurts her? I don’t want to hurt her, Till. I… I miss her. I feel so lost. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. What is the point of this life, if she won’t…”

He trails off. Till understands his feelings perfectly. He knows that aching feeling of longing, like nothing could make it go away but her love. Till is unsure what to say. So he attempts to express it through physical means. He squeezes Paul in his arms and leans in to nuzzle into his neck, eyes closed. Paul flinches away and snaps, “Till, no! You shouldn’t even be over here! You know you have to be sleeping. You need your energy for tomorrow. Why are you even up? Please, go to bed.”

Till realizes that Schneider’s snoring has stopped. Richard’s mumbling has faded. The room is silent. Till’s stomach twists.

“No,” he growls, “I won’t leave you.”

Paul twists out of his embrace, harshly whispering, “Go. I don’t want you to stay.”

Reaching out, Till hooks his arm around him and pulls him back. Paul’s hands fly up to grab onto his wrist, attempting to pull away with a cornered, whimpering sound coming from him. Till raises up onto an elbow, bearing weight down onto the smaller dwarf so he can’t escape. Paul’s eyes stare up at him, wide and fearful in the moonlight. Till searches in them. He speaks in a low growl, insistent and stern.

“I am not leaving. Not until I’m certain you feel better. You think I haven’t noticed your behavior? Your refusal to drink water or eat? Working, and working, until you can’t stand anymore? I need you to understand I care about you. I am _here_ for _you.”_

“No, you are not!” Paul snaps at him, attempting to jerk out of his hold, but unable to, “You are here for _her!_ You know that! We all know that!”

He’s not even trying to be quiet anymore. The others must be awake at this point. Till growls, frustrated. He reaches up to grasp Paul by the jaw with one big hand, which serves to still his struggling. Paul looks up at him with a cornered expression, eyes shaky, his chest heaving as he pants. Till searches his face. He then leans in, head angling, and crushes their mouths together. Paul grunts, head recoiling back into the pillow. One slender hand slips free from the blanket to claw at Till’s shoulder through his sleep shirt.

Till kisses him firmly, hopeful his hypothesis is true. That all Paul needs is an anchor. A place to obtain intimacy that doesn’t come from such an unhealthy, abusive source such as _her._

It takes a moment. Till gently purses his lips against Paul’s unresponsive mouth. But Till does notice he isn’t pushing at him anymore. His hand is frozen, clutching at Till’s broad shoulder. Finally, _finally,_ Paul’s lips slowly, reluctantly push back against his. Till releases a rushed exhale through his nose, relieved. Paul’s hand slides up to clutch Till by the jaw, fingers curled around the side of his face, nails digging in slightly. He makes a soft noise into the kiss. Eyes open, lidded, Till sees Paul’s are clenched shut, his brow furrowed. Their mouths move together, overlapping and pushing and slowly dancing, until Paul is gasping into it.

Then, suddenly, Paul rips away from him, turning his head to break the kiss.

“We can’t,” Paul gasps out, panting so hard his chest is heaving against Till, his hand closing around Till’s throat. Till breathes heavily himself, gazing down at him with hooded eyes and warm cheeks. Paul continues, shakily, with fear crawling into the sound of his voice, eyes wide, “How could you? We can’t! She’ll find out, Till. She’s going to find out. Oh, God. What have you done?”

He begins to shake, his horror so genuine it crushes Till. He looks genuinely frightened. Till reaches up with both hands to clutch his head in his hold, fingers in his short, wild hair, thumbs against his temple. He leans forward to rest his forehead against Paul’s.

“Calm down,” Till murmurs. “She won’t know. She isn’t here right now. Paul, it’s okay. How could she possibly know?”

“She can tell,” Paul whispers, looking as if he’s just seen a ghost, hands grasping at Till’s sides, “She can always tell, Till. She’ll find out.”

“No,” Till answers plainly, “She won’t. Just accept it, Paul. Why are you letting her take this from you? I love her, too, but I won’t fear her. Learn not to fear. Learn to accept. With acceptance, you will feel free. She can’t control this, Paul. The only way she can is if you let her.”

Without waiting for a reply, he angles his head and presses their mouths together again. Paul sobs, a broken, hitched noise caught in his throat. Eyes closed with his waterline burning, simmering with repressed tears of his own, Till continues clutching Paul’s head in his hands, cradling him gently, and passionately kisses him. Paul’s slim, calloused hands move to cup Till’s cheeks, pulling him in. He kisses him back harshly, lips mashing against Till’s, his breathing hard and heavy through his nose, exhales ghosting across Till’s face. Till can feel his smaller body finally go limp underneath his own. Relaxing. The tension dissipates.

When Paul begins gasping for air in-between the exchange of their mouths, Till slowly breaks away. He leans back, shuddering and panting himself, and gazes down at Paul. Through the dim moonlight, Till can tell his eyes are closed, his mouth open. He blearily opens his eyes to gaze up at him.

“Please don’t go,” he whispers, a naked vulnerability and desperation in his eyes, arms wrapping around Till, clinging to him, “I can’t sleep alone again. At least… Not tonight. I want you to stay.”

Till manages a slight smile. He nods. Paul still appears quite conflicted, worried, scared, but the faintest hint of relief and thankfulness shows in his eyes. Till strokes a thumb over Paul’s cheek, searching his face, and murmurs lowly, “I promise I’ll stay. Do you want me to hold you?”

Letting out a trembling exhale, Paul drops his gaze to Till’s mouth—unable to meet his eyes. He nods a little. Till leans in to kiss his forehead. Paul takes in a hitching breath, sniffling, and then detaches from Till to lethargically turn onto his side, facing the wall again. Till slips under the covers. He spoons up close behind him. Drawing his arm around Paul’s waist, Till holds him tightly, securely against his front.

Paul completely relaxes in his embrace. He slumps down against the pillow, hand weakly squeezing around Till’s forearm. Till shifts to get comfortable, resting his head close behind Paul’s, close enough his nose ends up in his disheveled hair. He closes his eyes, breathing him in. He’s warm in his arms. It feels.. Quite nice holding him. Till doesn’t want to fall asleep. He knows this is much more risky than sharing a kiss. She could return in the morning, find them sleeping together.

Paul releases a deep exhale, as if he’s flushing out the anxiety that lingers within him. Soon enough, after merely five minutes of spooning, Paul’s smaller body loses all tension. He’s lax under Till’s arm. Till can hear his slower, deeper breathing. His arm rests limply over Till’s. A contented smile creeps its way across Till’s face. He’s relieved he could help him get some sleep. A weak chain in the link could result in demise for them all.

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
